


Making Up For Lost Time

by albawrites



Series: On the Way to Piltover [6]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5838946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the years that slipped by between them, Graves realizes he does not actually know every detail that Twisted Fate has experienced since on the run from him. Old habits die hard, but they need to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Up For Lost Time

**Author's Note:**

> RATING: Mature. Explicit sex is involved.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that I wasn't satisfied with the lack of stories with these two. Their adventure continues here.

To be perfectly honest, Graves cannot remember the last time he'd been involved in a relationship with anyone. Romance was often short lived in the life of a traveling conman, and he'd tried something with Kolt -- sharp as a whip, as she was -- it wasn't for very long and Wallach hadn't been terribly impressed with it, either. That'd been what feels like a lifetime ago, and anything else had been kept strictly casual. The occasional barmaid when he felt up to it, or an expensive prostitute if their earnings had been particularly impressive that day. Something deeper did not happen often, and he wonders briefly about Twisted Fate's take on all this.

It doesn't really matter, admittedly. They're here now, and agreed to give this-- _them_ \--a try. More than just partners, but _partners._

They'd said their farewells to Gnar and Lulu. Wherever the yordles were off to, it seems like Piltover isn't their goal, and both tend to fair better in the wilderness than among most civilizations, in any case. Making it to Piltover shouldn't be far off now, and much to Twisted Fate's relief they'd come across a bar and inn along the road.

"Finally, some actual damn beds," Twisted Fate says, the relief almost _palatable_ in his voice.

Graves grins at him. "I dunno, they might just have a few wooden planks with sheets on top."

"Don't y'even tease me. Gnar found a beetle in my hair this mornin'. _And ate it._ "

"That why you spent so long by the stream?" Graves snorts and holds the door open for him. "Figured you were just preening as usual."

"For such an asshole, you're being a gentleman," T.F. remarks, inclining his head at the door before stepping inside.

"Waiting for a real special occasion to close it on your pretty face."

Twisted Fate chuckles quietly. "Just make sure it's a nice door when y'do."

The interior of the tavern is nothing special, and is just barely a mark above most he'd ever been in during his days in Bilgewater. It's cleaner looking, anyway, but nothing immediately stands out to him. There are some patrons inside, keeping to themselves as they nurse their pints and murmur quiet conversations to each other.

Still, at this point, he doubts even Twisted Fate is going to argue if they stay here.

"Think you can keep yourself occupied while I'm getting us a room?" Graves raises a brow at him.

"I got a deck of cards and some bored looking people here." Twisted Fate's smirk is broad as he sits himself down at the bar. "I think I can manage."

"Do your best to not get us thrown out immediately."

Twisted Fate sighs dramatically. "I can reel it in. Don't fuss so much."

A hand goes to T.F.'s chin, and Graves is leaning in, kissing him. It's a simple gesture, but he still relishes the feeling of the other man's mouth against his own. It's strange to think how not that long ago he'd aimed to kill him, and here are they _involved_ with each other. 

When he pulls back, Twisted Fate wears an expression that he can't remember ever seeing on him. The swindler looks dumbstruck, his eyes bright and distracted. He's downright certain he sees some red crawling up his skin, along the back of his ears and neck.

"You good?" Graves asks, amused.

Twisted Fate looks away suddenly, pulling the front of his hat down slightly. "You gonna get us a room or what?" 

That earns a smirk from Graves. For a moment, he considers teasing him, but it's victory enough to watch his partner become slightly undone by a simple kiss in public. For someone as confident, smug, and self-assured as Twisted Fate, it does, perhaps, truly speak volumes about how long the other man's held onto his feelings. It's still maddening to think about the time that's passed, how long Graves had been nurturing his anger and hatred and yet T.F. had _very_ different emotions about him.

Right now, this is enough. He can give him shit for it later.

After giving his shoulder a squeeze, Graves steps away to have a talk with the closest barmaid.

Before in the rooms they'd shared, they'd always had ordered two separate beds. At this point, Graves doesn't feel particularly shy about the nature of their relationship, and more to the point he doesn't think he could rest well without the other man at his side. It's a bit strange to think that the man he once blamed for his time in the Locker is now a source of comfort at night. It isn't a perfect situation, but having him near these days at least makes the nightmares more bearable.

Thankfully, T.F. never asks him what it's like. That's not a topic either of them need to approach anytime soon. The simple acknowledgement is enough.

In any case, although the room is far from Twisted Fate's _expensive_ tastes, it has a bed and a tub, and that's more than adequate. It's enough for two men. Graves lets out a sigh and rolls his shoulders as he sets down one of their packs and scowls at the gun he's still stuck with. It would never be too soon to be rid of Twitch's sorry excuse for a firearm and get something that actually fires bullets.

When he comes downstairs, Graves frowns as he notices that T.F. is no longer at his seat at the bar. Playing cards had been left behind, oddly enough. What was more important than conning someone out of their money, anyway?

His chin lifts and he sees the thief standing outside, by the window, clearly in discussion with someone else. The expression that Twisted Fate wears is something he's seen before: although he's smiling, it's more subtle than his usual trademark smug expressions, distant in a way. Whoever he's talking to must be familiar to him for him to present himself like that. Graves can't imagine him interacting with a stranger like that. It's too sincere looking to be a trick of some kind. He can't see who the other person is, but he sees a hand rest on T.F.'s shoulder.

Just who is he talking to?

There's a familiar burning sensation forming in his chest, and he feels abruptly angry. The list of people that Twisted Fate has ever been open to is an incredibly small list. True, he can't claim to know what they're saying, but he _knows_ T.F. enough to know when his face is being more honest than usual.

He doesn't think much about it, just that he's heading to the door in a determined march, throwing it open and turning to look at the pair of them.

It's Yasuo, who for a moment looks less hardened than usual, his brows knitted and his eyes tired. His hand is on Twisted Fate's shoulder, but as soon as the swordsman is looking in Graves' direction, the expression quickly changes. There's a determined look and he's shoving Twisted Fate aside, and faster than Graves can react there's quickly a blade against his throat.

"Graves, you seem well," Yasuo says, his lips quirking into a grim smile. "But if you take another step closer, I'll have to kill you."

"What the hell is all this?" Graves demands instead, debating his options.

T.F. puts his hand onto Yasuo's wrist, speaking calmly, "C'mon now, quickdraw; things've changed."

That seems to distract Yasuo sufficiently enough, and he's turning his head to look at Twisted Fate both in confusion and curiosity. Without waiting another beat, Graves is knocking the sword away from his neck and moves in quickly. He has no gun at his side, but he also has no patience about this either. His heart is beating fast, and familiar anger is bubbling up inside, but this is different, too.

Without thinking, he slams his fist into Yasuo's jaw.

"Hmm." Yasuo brushes a thumb over the bruise threatening to form across his jawline. "I don't think that was the smartest choice."

"Yasuo, Graves -- both of you just simmer down," he can hear T.F. say, but Graves isn't having it. Where did Yasuo get off making himself into some kind of bodyguard? What kind of history do these two have?

What the _hell_ is going on here?

"You think y'could deal with me without that big knife of yours?" Graves demands, his fists clenching.

"If need be," Yasuo answers him, sheathing his sword. "If that's what you want, then I'd be fine with obliging you."

There's a burst of shimmering, golden magic in the air, and Graves feels the familiar sensation of his muscles clenching and his body stunned. He realizes that the same has been done to Yasuo, who can't move for a moment.

One of Twisted Fate's cards.

"Well now, _gentlemen._ " T.F. steps between the two of them, and Graves knows that look on his face; it's a smile, but it certainly not a pleasant expression. He's annoyed, and he's ensuring that they both know. "Seeing as I've both got you to shut the hell up and not do anything stupid for a moment: Yasuo, he ain't here to kill me. That business is behind us now, but I thank you kindly for being ready to help me. _Malcolm_ , you seem a might be tetchier than usual, so I suggest we all go inside and have a drink."

He knows full well that he's more temperamental than usual, and he'd been riding out on that anger. He still is, to some degree, but Twisted Fate is attempting to be sensible. Graves breathes in deep; he knows he should be listening. That's a thing he's been attempting to improve for the two of them.

"This is Malcolm," Yasuo says, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

Something seems to dawn on Twisted Fate's face. It goes over Graves' head, and it bothers him. "Yasuo," T.F. says, his voice soft and it just makes the anger in the pit of Graves' stomach boil harder.

Yasuo closes his eyes and shakes his head. "We'll talk later. Right now, I think it's best if I go."

"If that's what suits you. Buy you a drink later?"

"I'll think about it." Yasuo turns and steps away from the pair of them, thankfully.

The moment is quiet, and Twisted Fate is watching Yasuo's back as the swordsman takes his exit. The expression on the thief's face is a strange one, distant and thoughtful. There is _something_ here, something that Graves doesn't know, and he never imagined not knowing would make him so angry, and he isn't sure if _knowing_ is going to help, but that certainly doesn't stop him from demanding anyway.

"What the hell was going on with the two of you?" Graves growls, trying his best not to shout.

Twisted Fate turns his head to look back at him, his eyes narrowed and his expression distinctly unimpressed. "Why don't we talk 'bout what's gotten into you? Runnin' in and deciding you ought to sock him in the face."

"He had a sword on me!"

"He thought you were here to kill me. Kind of the word that was goin' around for months." Twisted Fate folds his arms. "Anyway, I could'a talked him down."

"You're avoiding my question, anyway," Graves says, furious.

A heavy sigh escapes T.F. and he looks up at the sky for a moment before he's facing Graves again. "Yasuo and I traveled for a time together. It was short lived, but I s'pose I'd call him an acquaintence."

" _And?_ "

"And what? Did I fuck him?" Twisted Fate suggests, his voice cool and sounding indifferent. "That what you wanna ask me, Malcolm?"

Graves scowls, waiting.

"Yeah, I did. You feel better knowin' that?"

He had a feeling it was something like that. The thought weighs into Graves' mind, and the answer is no, knowing does _not_ make him feel better. He thinks about it, he thinks about how angry it makes him. Rationally, it was before he and Graves reconciled, so it shouldn't impact him.

Yet here he is, clenching his fists, feeling like he'd like to hit Yasuo again in the face.

"How many people do I know that you slept with?" Graves finds himself asking, knowing full well he'll regret it.

"Graves." Twisted Fate sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. "I dunno, like seven people?"

" _Seven!_ "

"It's all history. What the hell good is it gonna do you gettin' jealous over people I've had a roll with?" Twisted Fate asks, a frown forming on his face.

Graves almost denies it, that he's jealous. Words get caught in his throat, and he realizes that it's true. It gives him pause, even if the anger still hasn't quelled just yet in him. He wonders, instead, why Twisted Fate didn't choose to be more forthcoming -- but then, did he really expect the other man to change his habits? Lying and being evasive is what he does, and there's no reason for him to treat Graves any differently, is there?

He feels T.F.'s hand rest on his arm, and Graves pulls away from the contact. There's a sigh and Twisted Fate holds out his hands. "Don't be like this. Don't you trust me by now?"

Before he can help himself, he lets out a low, bitter laugh. The sound actually seems to alarm Twisted Fate as he flinches back slightly, then a deep scowl forms on his face. More often these days, he sees and hears a more emotional side from T.F., and right here is no different: there is a raw, hurt look in his eyes, and seeing that look does strike Graves hard in the chest. 

It's here, he realizes his own stupidity, his own foolish anger and jealousy.

And it's too late to do anything about it when he sees the card twirling in Twisted Fate's fingers and the pressure building in the air.

"T.F., wait--" Graves starts, and it's not fast enough, not when he sees the other man vanish away.

_Damn it._

"T.F.!" he shouts, knowing he has to be somewhere nearby enough to hear him. "Twisted Fate!"

Nothing but his own damned self.

" _Tobias!_ "

And nothing still.

 

-=-=-

 

Graves doesn't know what the point of his confrontation had been.

Somehow, his emotions had swept him up in the moment. There was a sort of selfishness in feeling like he was the only person Twisted Fate would let himself be honest with, but he knows it was stupid to think that was the case. To see his face soften with someone else fired him up, and he'd known of course Twisted Fate has been with several other people in the past. It doesn't matter that he has been, yet the jealous sensation just became more fed after his suspicions had been confirmed.

How close did T.F. get with Yasuo, and in the end does that really matter?

It was a damned foolish thing, and now T.F. has vanished off to who knows where for who knows how long.

The evening has been spent drinking. Spending it in the bar alone hadn't been appealing, but staying it in their rented room alone just makes him acknowledge the fact that he'd driven off Twisted Fate a truth he can't turn away from even more apparent but there weren't many other places to go.

So the bar it was.

Graves hasn't been keeping track of how many drinks he's had, and he isn't about to. Brooding over his whiskey while moodily smoking his cigar is about the only decision he can really make right now.

His eyes glance to the side as he watches someone else sit next to him.

"Any Ionian imports?" Yasuo asks the barmaid. She smiles sweetly, settling a bottle and glass in front of him. With a curious look, Yasuo turns the bottle over in his hands before making a noise of approval, and he pours himself a glass. "He'll be back, Graves."

For a moment, that angry fire arises inside of him. Graves doesn't need to be told a damned thing about Twisted Fate's behaviors, and he wants to make sure that the other man is clear of that. At the same time, it's that kind of temper that's gotten the both of them nearly killed more than once, and right now isn't about to do either of them any good.

Graves lets out a low hiss as he exhales smoke. "Yeah," he mutters instead.

"I was under the impression you were still out to kill him. Sorry about threatening to do the same to you." Yasuo offers a wry smile before he sips his glass.

"We worked things out," is the only way Graves feels he can summarize what happened in Bilgewater, because really it's not any of Yasuo's business anyway. "How's your jaw?"

"You have a pretty strong right hook." Yasuo laughs quietly. "I'll have a bruise to remind me of that."

Silence fills in between them for a moment. The only sounds are the murmurs of other patrons, and glasses clinking as they drink and refill. When Graves makes a disgruntled sound at finding his bottle empty, Yasuo silently fills his cup with his Ionian liquor.

It's not Graves' preferred taste, but he isn't about to argue.

"I'm not here to get in your way," Yasuo says, his voice a fraction quieter. "I thought he was in danger with you. It's good that you two made amends; not all misunderstandings can be smoothed over. And knowing the situation a little better now, my guess this is going to be as happy as he's going to get."

"What do you know?" The words sounded harsher in Graves' head than they do out loud. 

Either way, Yasuo doesn't look the least bit offended. "I doubt I know him half as well as you do, or that I ever will. I can live with that." He shrugs. "I met him at a rough time, though he never really explained his circumstances, naturally. All he said about the both of you was that there was a misunderstanding and that it would be impossible to make you listen to him. He tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal, and I had a feeling it was otherwise. Still, I felt like I understood then. I guess I didn't really until now. It never occurred to me to ask what your first name was."

Graves raises a brow at him. "The hell would that matter?"

"Let's just say he mentioned your first name once. When I asked who Malcolm was, Fate pulled his disappearing act for awhile." Yasuo finishes his glass. "He came back, eventually. He never really explained himself, but then he never really had to." The swordsman leans against the bar, looking at Graves. "I hope things work out, wherever you two take it."

"That ain't your business."

"You're not wrong," Yasuo agrees.

The conversation is moderately uncomfortable, and Graves is growing warily suspicious that his initial instincts may have been correct. He suspects what Yasuo might think or feel about T.F., and it angers him -- but then, it _doesn't_ matter, because they'd agreed to being committed. They agreed to give this relationship... _thing_ a try, and he knows better to trust him. No matter what Yasuo might think or feel, it shouldn't change anything he has with Twisted Fate.

It doesn't make the tension between him and the swordsman any better, though. Yasuo seems to get the idea, and his gaze turns toward his drink instead, focusing on that.

And Graves does much the same.

 

-=-=-

 

Though he expected no less and not because Yasuo had said as much, Twisted Fate's return was inevitable. As soon as Graves opens the door to their room, there he sees the thief, sitting at the humbly sized wooden, rickety table with his legs and arms crossed. The room is silent and their eyes meet, with uncertainty and curiosity swirling in the glow of Twisted Fate's gaze. Slowly, Graves shuts the door behind him and locking it as he's letting out a heavy sigh. In a slow strut, he invites himself to sit across from the other man.

"So," seems like a poor way to start the conversation, but Graves does it anyway. 

T.F. tilts his head, waiting.

Admitting to the fact that he was wrong in any form or way is a difficult matter. It's as much as Twisted Fate has had him pegged for years; he does things his own way, hardly listening to anyone else. In this case, it had clearly -- and surprisingly -- hurt Twisted Fate in a way that somehow Graves hadn't been anticipating. Then again, T.F. did tell him that when he does this sort of thing, when he gets emotionally involved, he goes in with both feet.

And twelve years is hell of a long time to hold a torch, only to get slapped in the face with it a few times. Why the hell did this have to get so complicated?

"I wasn't thinkin'. This whole thing is pullin' together, and I hardly ever had anything that's lasted that long. Hell, for years, I wanted to kill you." Graves rubs the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I told myself it must have been stupid of me, trusting a thief and a conman. I'm still unlearning that. I wasn't wrong to trust you then, not wrong now." He doesn't avert his gaze, keeping his eyes on Twisted Fate, whose expression is difficult to read. Hardly a surprise since it's a man who makes a living off of having hell of a poker face. "I'm sorry," he finishes.

"Well." Twisted Fate leans forward a little, his hands folding together. "Those are two words I never thought I'd hear you say."

"Don't get used to it."

"Heh." T.F. shrugs before he's closing his eyes. "Look, Malcolm. I ran into Yasuo not long after I dealt with somethin' troubling, and about a couple of months after you broke out of the Locker. He was decent company, but it wasn't somethin' I wanted to pursue. Couldn't, really. It's almost _quaint_ that you got fired up about it, granted..."

Graves lifts a brow.

The way Twisted Fate smiles is tired, but it looks sincere enough. "In any case, this-- _us._ That's what I want. An' I know it won't be perfect. You're gonna get stupid, I'm gonna disappear, but I know we're both tryin'. That's enough. More than most folks."

"Who's stupid," Graves says, musing, not even offended. Instead, he's reaching over, warily placing his hand over T.F.'s.

Fortunately, Twisted Fate is turning his own over, holding on, and Graves is surprised with himself that he's _relieved._ It was alarming to know how much and how long Twisted Fate felt about him, and he's a little startled with himself how much he does care in return. Bastard is slippery, manipulative, and dodgy, but those were the same reasons they teamed up and some of the reasons he can be endeared to the riverman.

They've also had more than their fair share of spats in the past. Even before the Locker, they'd fight with each other sometimes, arguing over how to pull a job or some other damned petty thing before they got over themselves the next day without even saying a word to each other. They'd reconciled in Bilgewater, sure, but this is certainly different. Discussing how to better work with each other in terms of a relationship. Admittedly, Graves doesn't even know where to begin. He's known Twisted Fate for so long, but this is almost _new_ , seeing him in ways that's raw and real instead of the smug swagger he so often takes, and himself feeling irrationally angry at the prospect of someone else having any inclination towards T.F. Like idiots, they've leapt into this head first, but...

But he knows he wants this to work, and undoubtedly Twisted Fate has that same feeling. Graves knows what choice he's made, and he's sticking with it.

Graves is standing from his seat, leaning over to take the other man by the jaw in order pull him into a kiss. He remembers how unusually flustered T.F. had been when he'd done this openly in public, and while it was amusing it was certainly almost _nice_ to see him so open like that. Against his lips, he feels the thief's mouth open, enough to let him slip his tongue in briefly.

"Hmm," T.F. hums against him, parting their mouths just enough to chuckle before he's murmuring against his mouth: "I'm almost inclined to forgive you."

" _Almost?_ " Graves grumbles with a snort.

He can feel Twisted Fate smiling against him and a hand is sneaking up to trail circling, irrelevant patterns over his chest. "I can be convinced, y'know."

"You menace." With a growl, Graves hauls Twisted Fate up from the chair, walking him back towards the bed that's thankfully a short distance away. Even as he gives a gentle shove to the other man, Twisted Fate laughs quietly as he falls back to sit on the mattress. It's ridiculous how easy it is for Twisted Fate to rile him up, but then, he'd always had that skill in different ways and he's only grateful that now it's for pleasure between them.

The stupid, fancy hat is taken, tossed back onto the old table before he's burying his fingers into T.F.'s long hair, holding onto him as Graves presses his mouth against his throat and over his pulse. Though it pulls an interested hum from Twisted Fate, the swindler doesn't pause for long as he's untucking Graves' shirt, giving him room to slide a hand underneath and trace his fingers over skin. It's a small bit of contact, but enough to make Graves jerk a moment before he's growling and nipping at the other man's neck.

He's crawling over Twisted Fate, his hand sliding up the other man's back, holding him there as his teeth scrape against the thief's throat. When he hears T.F. sigh against his ear, Graves pauses, considers his options, but still holds on. It's warm, almost tender.

He wants to savor it, and that very thought is new but feels right.

It seems to surprise the swindler when he hears Twisted Fate: "Malcolm?"

Graves swallows and buries his face into his partner's neck, breathing him in for a moment. There's that ridiculous, expensive cologne of his, but it reminds him of T.F. and that's not something he can think of as a bad thing anymore. _Reminders_ of him are positive now, he wants to be around him more; he loathes the idea of losing him to anything, or anyone.

He feels thin, careful fingers hold into his shoulders, and Graves turns his head look at Twisted Fate in the eyes. 

"Somethin' on your mind, hotshot?" 

A few things, admittedly. Graves debates how to question it, but he's not as elegant with his words as Twisted Fate is. He exhales through his nose and finally says, "Y'said you thought about this for twelve years."

"This again?" Twisted Fate raises a brow, tapping a finger on Graves' shoulder. "All right, yeah. What about it?"

"Did you ever think about how this would go? You an' me."

That seems to draw an almost uncertain look in Twisted Fate's gaze, which is atypical for him. The sheer amount of emotion he expresses now is different, open, and he seems to realize it. When T.F. tries to look away from him, Graves is holding onto his chin.

Eventually, the thief sighs and shrugs, relenting as he responds, "Yeah, sure. A few times."

"I ain't askin' to embarrass you."

"You can't embarrass me," Twisted Fate says with a snort.

"That kiss down in the bar says otherwise."

"You jus' caught me off guard is all. Which, by the way, _won't_ happen again."

Graves cracks a grin, but realizes his initial intention is getting off track. "You think about us switchin' things up a bit?"

"Hm." Both brows raise now, and T.F. is tilting his head. "'Course I have, just didn't think you'd be into that. That why you ask what it was like back on the train?"

"S'pose I'm curious. Don't know how I'd feel about it if I ain't given it a try before."

There's a look on Twisted Fate's face that he hasn't seen often, but it's a warm, fond expression as he smiles at him. Before Graves can comment on it, the card shark is leaning in and kissing him lightly before pressing his forehead against his. "Well, if you were so inclined, I'd be glad to show you."

Honestly, he can't imagine what the fuss is about, but he definitely can't ignore how incredibly _vocal_ Twisted Fate has been about his pleasure when he's been on the receiving end. He's wary, but he'd been honest when he said he really didn't have too many feelings about it since he'd never tried it before. 

Gently, T.F. is pushing him back to sit up, and he's following the thief's lead. Lips brush against his throat, hot breath purposefully exhaled against him. It sends goosebumps down the back of his neck and Graves lets out a low rumble, curious. He reaches up, brushing his fingers through Twisted Fate's hair, as he feels the other man's mouth move over his throat. A hot tongue slides along his skin, teeth barely touching him, sending pleasant tingles down his neck. 

"Turn around," Twisted Fate is murmuring into his ear.

That earns a lift of Graves' brow, but he doesn't argue. He pulls away, just enough so that he can turn himself around, his back to Twisted Fate. Hands are tugging at his waist, pulling him flush against the swindler's chest. It's a little disorientating not facing him and admittedly not to his preferences, but he doesn't complain; whatever T.F. has in mind, he's willing to give it a try.

"Here's the deal." He feels fingers start to unbutton the top of his shirt, and slowly starting to undress him. In his ear, T.F. continues to murmur, "If you wanna stop, you tell me an' we stop. If somethin' hurts, don't try to show off as a big man and just take it. The idea is that you feel good, and sure as hell no point if you're uncomfortable."

"You seem to like it jus' fine," Graves points out wryly helping him in peeling off his top.

"Yeah, well." Twisted Fate's lips brush against his neck. "I know this ain't for everyone. Just lemme know if you need a change at all."

The heat of the other man's mouth against his throat is impossible to ignore, teeth dragging along his skin and his tongue, wet and warm, sliding along over his pulse. Graves lets out a sharp breath, frowning a little to himself; it's a bit odd to not more proactively involved in this with T.F., but he's letting him take lead, letting him decide how he's going to do this. Clever fingers move up from his hips, reaching up to touch his chest. A shot of _something_ goes down his back when he feels Twisted Fate's fingers touch his nipples.

The first time he'd done that in the train, Graves frankly hadn't been sure how he felt about it initially -- at least not until he'd been teased further. For him, sex had always been a straight-forward matter, at least until he started becoming involved with Twisted Fate, who actively found new ways to egg him on and ensure they both came out satisfied. This is still different, but he's not brushing him off, and he's not making any remarks, his brow furrowing as T.F.'s smooth fingers lightly pinch and touch him and continue to send little shots of pleasure down his spine. 

He enjoys it, more than he cares to openly admit. Not that he has to; T.F. _knows_ , and Graves can practically hear him being smug right behind him.

There's the light drag of Twisted Fate's fingernails down his chest, over his belly before he's squeezing his thighs. Nothing is hard enough to hurt, and he knows it isn't because the other man is concerned with how fragile he is; they both know Graves is far, far from that. Smooth fingertips are traveling back up, brushing over his nipples before he feels them settle onto his shoulders. Twisted Fate breathes against his neck calmly, remaining close as he thumbs roll over Graves' shoulders, digging in slightly in a circular massage. Admittedly, it feels nice, but not particularly arousing.

"Hell, I feel like I need a hammer and chisel for your back," T.F. muses behind him.

"Not that I mind, but what's this for?"

Twisted Fate presses his nose against his neck. "You're gonna wanna be relaxed as possible for this. Helps the first time, and you're not a guy who's good at relaxin'."

" _Plenty_ relaxed right now, thank you."

"Uh-huh," T.F. says, not sounding convinced. "Just work with me here."

Gradually, Graves breathes out through his nose and nods, humoring him without any argument. Twisted Fate's clever fingers work a little more deeply, rolling into his scarred skin and urging his muscles to release tension. He can't remember ever receiving this sort of treatment before, but Graves would never say that he's ungrateful for it. T.F. is obviously determined to make this as pleasant as possible for him.

"Hm," he hums out, closing his eyes as T.F. works on a knot in his shoulder. "Y'don't seem to need this."

"Yeah, well, I've been rollin' with men way longer than you." Twisted Fate laughs quietly against his shoulder. "I know how to take it easy and prepare myself."

"You seem _awfully_ concerned with whether or not I'm gonna like this."

"I sure as hell don't want you to have a miserable time, that's for damned sure." Lips are pressing against Graves' shoulder. "How you feelin'?"

Graves cracks an eye open to peer over his shoulder. "Plenty fine, if you're done pampering me, princess."

"Well, if you're so certain." A hand palms over his crotch, the touch firm as Twisted Fate cups him and murmurs into his ear, " _Malcolm._ "

That earns more of a reaction than he's ready to immediately admit, and Graves lets out a low groan as he jerks his hips into T.F.'s waiting hand. A low, pleased chuckle escapes Twisted Fate, his breath hot and brief against his skin. "Help me get this off you, hotshot," the thief says.

Wordlessly, he immediately works on the order, and he can't remember the last time he'd been so damned eager to get his own slacks off. From behind, Twisted Fate's skilled fingers help him wrench off the rest of his clothes, barely feeling any relief when his erection is finally free. No time is wasted when smooth fingers slide over his cock, giving it one long, thorough stroke. Hell, he knows that T.F. can just work him up and get him off with his hands alone if he likes, but that's not what this is going to be so he clenches his jaw and tries to steel himself, grunting as Twisted Fate slides his hand over the base.

It's a stall, and he knows it when hears a bottle cap open. The hand on his cock stays where it is, but the contact is lighter, resting there, ready to take hold and drive him mad if Twisted Fate so chooses. Graves' back almost tenses when he feels the tip of his finger pressing against him, cool with lubricant.

"We'll start off with one. Might pinch a bit," T.F. warns him.

Graves just nods, not finding words otherwise. Slowly, the finger presses in; it doesn't hurt, but it's as the other man says. It pinches just a bit, and Twisted Fate is more than generous with how he's taking his time pressing it up to the knuckle, inch by inch until he feels him stop. It's... an odd sensation, not one he finds remarkable. Graves frowns and wonders if he should be expecting anything.

But Twisted Fate says nothing, as if he's anticipating this. Typical of the swindler to think ahead and determine the outcome: the finger is slowly drawing back before pressing back in.

"That it? Really not seeing the fuss," Graves mutters.

"Heh. Just getting you used to this first. Be patient."

A brow lifts, even though Twisted Fate can't see it, but Graves complies and remains quiet as the finger pulls back and presses in again. Still nothing, but he is finding himself adjusting to the sensation well enough. When T.F.'s hand pulls away again, this time a second finger slowly edges inside, undoubtedly working him up to the appropriate size. Frankly, he still isn't feeling much of anything about this, but Graves supposes that if Twisted Fate will find any enjoyment in this, then that's well enough for him now. 

A thoughtful hum escapes Twisted Fate, but Graves doesn't inquire his thoughts. It's a noise he's familiar with as the riverman calculates, evaluating his next move. The next press of his fingers, and Graves is certain that they're _curling_ now, prodding with more purpose. Graves frowns thoughtfully--

Until there's pressure against something, all he can think of is a spot, and it sends a sudden electric sensation of pleasure through him, stealing his breath. Not unlike when he's fingered T.F. before, shutting him up with the sensation. _That's_ what it is, and before he can even say a word, Twisted Fate is pressing against that area again, causing another little wave of pleasure and forcing a groan out of him. Twisted Fate says nothing, pressing a slow kiss against his neck as the hand resting on his cock tightens somewhat, stroking him at a leisurely pace.

Graves hisses out between his teeth. Hell, this is more than enough, the fingers pressing instead and finding a new way to make him downright _tremble_ in the other man's hold while he's also taking his sweet damned time in teasing his cock. But he knows what he signed up for, and that's what he wants.

He wants whatever the hell it is that Twisted Fate imagined them to be, years ago, before hurt and assumption of betrayal. He wants to _know._

"T.F.," he strains out, shuddering as he bucks into his hold. The gunman grabs onto his wrist, trying to still him. "Shit. Wait."

Hands immediately go still before slowly the fingers withdraw. Graves lets out a sigh and gathers his thoughts, trying not to kick himself for stopping him. 

"You okay?" Twisted Fate mutters against his shoulder.

That just makes Graves laugh, breathless as he tries to clear his head. "Hell, more than that." He shakes his head. "If we're doin' this, I'm turnin' around. Let me face you."

"Fair 'nough." Much to Graves' reluctance, he lets Twisted Fate's go and it draws away from his erection. "Whenever you're ready, hotshot."

It does take Graves a moment. It feels odd, not having the fingers prodding inside of him, but it's harder to even out from being _incredibly_ teased to just feeling himself be turned on and hard enough that it almost hurts. Graves holds his breath and turns around, finding himself looking at the other man in the eyes; there's something there, how Twisted Fate looks at him, patient and curious, soft-looking. It's not an expression he sees very often in him.

Without another word, he's pressing his mouth against Twisted Fate's, growling against him. It steals T.F.'s breath, and that's so damned perfect. He throws Twisted Fate's pants off, away to the floor and forgotten. This? This is a hundred times better, seeing him, taking his mouth and tasting him. He feels Twisted Fate's teeth pull in his lower lip, just enough to get his attention before they're kissing again.

"Well," T.F. muses against his lips. "This seems like it's goin' well."

"Don't let it go to your head. We doin' this?"

"Long as you want to. Which, seems like y'do." Twisted Fate cracks a grin at him. "Just hold up a sec."

Patience is a bit of a difficult thing right now, but Graves says nothing as he waits for him. Twisted Fate is pushing himself back, just enough so that his back is supported by the headboard. The bottle of lube is held up and T.F. smirks at him. "You want the honors?"

"Look who's still a smug son of a bitch." Graves rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle away. This part he's more than familiar with by now, even if it's the other way around this time. After a generous amount of oily lubricant is put onto his palm, he slides his fingers over the other man's cock, the intent to coat him -- maybe coax a reaction out of Twisted Fate. The most he receives is a soft sigh but an otherwise complacent reaction.

Confident bastard. 

When he pulls his hand away and moves himself to straddle Twisted Fate's hips, the thief is immediately grabbing his hip and thigh and watching him. "Don't you rush this," he says. "Take it slow, Malcolm. I know that ain't your strongest trait, but try not to bull rush this, hm?"

Graves snorts, resting a hand on T.F.'s shoulder. "All right, I get it already."

"Yeah, well, I figure if I say it enough times, you'll get around to listening to me."

"Wiseass."

He finds himself hesitating, if only because he's unsure of how to exactly start this. Graves tries to think of how, exactly, Twisted Fate had done this with him the first time they slept together. Frowning, he seats himself onto his knees, lifting up cautiously. Silently without judgment, Twisted Fate gently guides him with his hands, bringing him down slowly until Graves can feel the tip of him press against him.

Ah. Well. There's that. Graves pauses for a moment before he slowly starts to sink down.

This is different than when it had been just T.F.'s fingers teasing him from the inside, considerably thicker and a bit less pliant to conform to him. The tip barely slips inside and Graves almost feels overwhelmed at the prospect of taking him _entirely_ inside, but he's not interested in backing down either. Scowling in concentration, he urges himself down, just a bit more.

Twisted Fate's hands tighten and forces him to stop. "Easy," he says, his tone patient, in no hurry at all and Graves remembers to breathe, not having realized he was holding his breath. "Got all the time in the world now, don't we?" T.F. murmurs, leaning in to lightly press his lips to Graves', which he takes in silent thanks.

It helps, more than he can bear to say, and he figures Twisted Fate knows anyway.

Gradually, he starts to work down again, the pressure undeniable as more of Twisted Fate's cock presses him open. Inch by inch, and somehow T.F. makes no demands of him, waiting as Graves breathes heavily and takes him in.

And he finds himself to the hilt, sitting on Twisted Fate's hips, the tip just prodding that spot again and nothing else. Graves swallows and presses his forehead against the other man's shoulder. "Fuck," he mutters.

"That's th' general idea." Twisted Fate combs his fingers through Graves' hair. "Take yer time," he says, with considerably less shitty humor involved.

Graves thinks that maybe a minute passes, of him just feeling the other man's cock buried inside of him. He thinks of how they'd done this previously, him rolling into Twisted Fate, pounding into him enough to make him scream. This is different, but the same motivation stays; his own pleasure is enough, but he's more interested, he finds, in satisfying _him_. Slowly, he lifts his hips up just enough, feeling Twisted Fate slide out just a few inches before he's coming back down with a sigh. The head of Twisted Fate's cock presses against him, sending that jolt down his spine. Twisted Fate lets out a groan, his fingers tightening over Graves' thighs, but demanding nothing of him.

All right. This isn't bad at all, and Graves can definitely work with this. He braces a hand against Twisted Fate's knee and he's rolling his hips again, grinding down against the other man's cock with a shudder while he watches Twisted Fate's face. The riverman's brows are knit and he's becoming more vocal, hips trembling against him before he feels Twisted Fate abruptly jerk against him, moving.

The sensation is sharp but not unpleasant, and he curses under his breath. "Do that again," Graves demands, staring at him in the eyes.

Wordlessly, Twisted Fate complies, his grip tightening as he slowly rolls his hips up, a slow thrusting motion and Graves hisses out sharply between his teeth. He moves in return, shifting down to press against him while T.F. bucks _upward_ , stealing his breath. The sensation is still new, but it burns throughout him, and Graves can barely think of anything but wanting this right now with him. Swallowing, he curls his free hand around his cock, stroking it slowly as he works down with Twisted Fate's motion, meeting with him _harder_ , welcoming the sound of skin slapping on skin.

He doubts T.F. counted on him wanting it harder, but he does, and he lets himself be lost in this. As Graves works his hand over himself, he keeps up with him, the motions becoming smoother and less uncertain as he chases the sensation, determined to have more of that, more of how Twisted Fate looks at him and moans against him. He wonders, briefly, if this is what Twisted Fate feels every time it's the other way around, him fucking the slimmer man, filling him. Is that how it is? It must be. It's warm, almost too much, but he wants it anyway as they go.

What catches him off guard is the look in Twisted Fate's face, brows knitted and eyes wanting. "Malcolm," he whispers, allowing himself the softness.

And a bit of Graves does, too.

When he comes, it's different than he has before, almost enough to make his mind numb. He thinks he shouts, jerking over Twisted Fate and feeling a hot liquid spill over his hand, maybe up his chest as he clenches down _tight_ over Twisted Fate. That alone is enough to push the riverman over, crying out and thrusting up sharply with a tremor as he finishes, up inside of him, a thought he doesn't connect to immediately.

Instead, Graves is sitting there, trying to catch his breath, feeling too hot and sticky with sweat. All things considered, most of his tension does feel like it's dissipated, admittedly. He leans forward, silently sliding his arms around Twisted Fate's midsection. He isn't interested in souring the moment with any banter, not right now.

Lips press against his temple, and Graves keeps his eyes closed as he breathes against his neck.

 

-=-=-

 

"That go about how you figure?"

By now he knows how the clean up goes, and he's not entirely fond of the aftermath for that reason. Cleaning himself _out_ is more just annoying than anything, but all-in-all, the entire thing was worth it, in his opinion. The look on Twisted Fate's face is certainly going to be burned into his mind, as well as the feeling of him. 

So when he poses the question with a raised brow as he pours the bottle of whiskey, Twisted Fate takes a glass and chuckles lowly. "Maybe with a bit less of you bein' a jealous asshole."

Graves stares at him flatly.

"Well." Twisted Fate glances away thoughtfully. "Something like it. Fantasies can't really live up to the real thing, anyhow."

The body language is a tell that he's able to interpret now. When he's a shy bit more emotional, that's when eye contact is difficult. Twisted Fate can lie a thousand ways while looking at a man in the eye, but the moment apparently he's being more sincere with Graves is a harder notion to express.

Graves almost laughs, but swallows it down with the whiskey as he pulls Twisted Fate over by the waist. "Lucky me," he says dryly.

"And what about you, hotshot? Think that's something you're gonna want again?"

"I could be talked into it." Graves kisses his shoulder. "Think I can get that forgiveness now?"

T.F. chuckles. "If you want it plain and simple--"

"As I usually _do_ , your highness."

"Well then." Twisted Fate turns his head and looks at him. "I forgive you. And I'm sorry for runnin' off as I did."

That, Graves thinks, he can work with.

They can both work with this.


End file.
